


Any Last Words?

by thedisasternerd



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cats, Crack, Crowley Being Crowley, Ducks, Hellhounds, I try, Jealousy, M/M, best of queen albums, crowley is not being funny, er - Freeform, ha, he also feels judged, he is perfectly serious, idk anymore, pretty much, um, zira being a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisasternerd/pseuds/thedisasternerd
Summary: Crowley doesn't approve of most things, but there are some that he hates more than others.And to Aziraphale, of course, his "antics" are all very much amusing.That is, until the tables are turned...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> all of this little drabble is entirely my fault, I'm afraid, because I love this ~~dork~~ demon very much  
> this shit is unbeta'd (but mostly edited) because my darling beta has probably had enough of my crap invading her inbox at all times of day and I have a feeling that this would be the last straw, so, watcha gonna do?  
> anyway...  
> hope you enjoy

**CROWLEY**

 

**Cats**

It's one in the morning, according to the sleek, expensive, glowing and very smug red digits; all is calm and everything is dark. And there is also a suspicious absence of Crowley's long, snaking limbs that tend to smother Aziraphale, as the demon has an annoying (rather endearing) habit of sprawling across all of the space available to him and hissing irritably when anyone tries to move him, or alternatively wrapping all four lanky appendages around them, clinging like one of the vines he threatens on a daily basis.

 _He's gone to water them,_ Aziraphale thinks vaguely, despite the sheer improbability of that ever happening at one in the bloody morning, and falls back asleep.

When he wakes up once more, there are two luminous yellow eyes staring innocently into his own.

_Not this again, for God's sake..._

Aziraphale groans and lifts an arm to swat the offending demon off of him, but the eyes simply blink innocently while his arm touches nothing but empty air. Furthermore, they mewl pitifully and sit down on his face with a strangely furry and soft feel.

Someone sniffs.

"Before you say anything," Aziraphale states, taking the squeaking kitten off of his face and sitting up, slightly unsettled by the  _two_ pairs of yellow, slitted eyes on him, "Let me remind you that I will not allow you to do anything that harms this animal."

Crowley sniffs again, eyes sulky under the thick mass of tousled charcoal hair, and tries to master a look of dignified indignity, which he habitually fails because of his complete and utter inability to be at all terrifying (when he had told the demon that, Crowley had sulked for at least a week and had tried all manner of threats that were too vague and too...unlikely. And besides, Crowley is, as he himself puts it, "too civilised"...), moreover because he is wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and, by the looks of it, nothing else. And also, his bed-head is just too cute. (But Aziraphale can't say any of the above out loud for fear of random, unexpected revenge).

"But...but it's a  _cat,_ angel. A bloody great cat, and it gets fur everywhere and I feel like it's judging me," he hisses, eyes black slits in pools of radiation yellow rather than their usual gold, "And...and _...it might have fleas!_ "

He sighs, giving up and turning away, and  _is that a pout?_

Aziraphale rolls his eyes so hard that Crowley physically winces, but the angel smothers a grin, and picks up the ginger kitten and cuddles it to his chest, feeling it purr happily, eyes half closed. Something in his chest twists in satisfaction as Crowley bites his lip, scowling, trying to hide the drop of his (soft and by now bruised and swollen) bottom lip.

The angel feels downright  _evil_ as he croons and nuzzles the ball of fluff on his chest, and he suddenly realises after all those years why Crowley is perfectly happy to stay as a demon. 

On that note, said demon is giving the kitten the evil eye and simultaneously side-eyeing Aziraphale. He catches the angel's eye and quickly turns away again, crossing his arms with an annoyed  _hmph!_

The silence draws on, and Aziraphale watches Crowley gradually get more and more agitated, before his resolve finally snaps. With a hiss, he snaps his fingers, miracling the kitten to what the angel hopes is a safe place and takes its place, eyes slitted and unblinking.

"Before you say anything," he mutters sulkily, lips brushing the exposed skin of Aziraphale's neck, "I am  _not_ jealous."

* * *

**Horror Films**

"What?" Crowley coughs, choking on a piece of popcorn, " _What?!_ What is this?!"

"An american horror film, dear," Aziraphale says tiredly, flinching as yet another demon of some kind severs someone's head while, by the looks of it, chewing on a human femur, "And you wanted to watch it."

"Yes, I know that, and I don't care!" the demon - the one sitting on a couch sharing a bottle of white wine and a bowl of popcorn with his unofficially official angelic boyfriend, that is - screeches, "This is- this is  _insulting._ I would... I would  _never do that!_ This is Earth, not Hell!.. Actually, maybe Hastur would do that, but  _who cares!_ "

"You do, my dear." Aziraphale points out, mildly amused.

"B-b-but that's not the  _point!_ " Crowley sputters indignantly.

"And what is?"

"Not dolphins, that's for sure," the demon sneers, half at the angel, half at the screen (the other demon has moved on to eating a hand, and Crowley looks about as, if not more, sickened as Aziraphale feels), "But demons aren't  _that_ lacking in pride. No self-respecting demon would eat," he shudders, "Human flesh. And Hastur is not a self-respecting demon." he adds sharply as Aziraphale opens his mouth, "Strictly speaking, he's an egotistic bastard, and Hell just can't be arsed to get rid of him."

"So he's a bit like you, dear."

Crowley chokes again, glaring as Aziraphale bursts out laughing.

"It's not  _funny,_ angel! I'm being serious!"

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, tugs him forward by his shirt, and kisses him before the demon can say anything else.

* * *

**Hellhounds**

"That dog is judging me," Crowley says suddenly, ignoring Adam's raised eyebrow and carrying on, "It's judging how to bessst kill me, and whether it should drag me back to Hell or eat me here. And whether I tassste better roasssted, grilled, ssstewed, or maybe just raw."

Anathema snorts, hastily disguising as a cough as Crowley whips round and glares pointedly at her.

"And do you know  _why?_ " he rambles on, regardless of Adam surreptitiously whispering  _"Is he drunk?"_ to Aziraphale (to which the answer was a frantic nod at the half-empty bottle of wine in the demon's hand. It's his fourth.), "Because it'sss a  _hellhound._ " Crowley nods sagely, beaming as Anathema, her face straining as she tries not to laugh, pretends to listen attentively, Newt silently crying in the corner, "And Hellhounds..." he pauses dramatically, "Like eating...eating  _everything._ And d'you know what that'sss called? It'sss called being an...an omni-omini-" he hiccups, "An  _eat-all._ And d'you know what it likesss bessst? It likesss sssnakesss, essspecially demonic onesss."

He hiccups again, downing the rest of the bottle, bowing as Shadwell claps approvingly (at his prowess of drinking the bottle, not the speech, during which the Witch-Finder Seargent slept through), before fixing his gaze back on the innocent looking dog happily chewing a bone on the carpet. His hair is once again sticking out in all directions, and if anything, he looks attractively laid-back rather than piss-drunk.

"It'sss plotting." he mumbles thickly, "Plotting how to kill usss all and... and feed usss to the... the ducksss."

Newt gives up, and everyone else follows suit.

" _It'sss not funny! I'm being ssseriousss!"_

* * *

**Ducks**

"My dear," Aziraphale huffs as Crowley sinks yet another duck, watching it with grim satisfaction as it bobs up angrily to the surface, quacking indignantly, "I really wish you would stop doing that."

"They deserve it," the demon mutters, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses, "The buggers. Bloody vermin with wings. Annoying, useless, _vermin_. They're worse than pigeons."

He sinks another one, smirking triumphantly, throwing a piece of bread out to the others before sinking them too.

"Greedy little pigs." he hisses at them.

The Russian Cultural Attaché gives them an odd look as he throws out a piece of his own bread, the head of the MI6 lurking out in the open, dismally dropping his Hovis into the murky water and trying to surreptitiously shift closer to the enemy representative.

"And yet you still feed them." Aziraphale says idly.

"Yes, but that's-  _Er._ "

"It is what, dear?"

Crowley goes brick red, first his high cheekbones, then spreading out across his ridiculously pale skin as he rubs his neck and coughs.

Aziraphale waits patiently, forsooth a tad too smugly.

Crowley flushes at least another six shades of red, bristles a bit, before grabbing Aziraphale's face and kissing him soundly on the lips.

He pulls off after about five seconds, wiping his mouth and refusing to look at the angel, who is too stunned to react.

"Takes one to know one!" he yells at the two frozen diplomats, who look at each other and blush.

* * *

  **Best of Queen Albums**

  "We should go out and get some fresh air some time," Aziraphale says vaguely, watching beadily as Crowley stares into the depths of his glass as if trying to find the meaning of life in it or some such drunk desire, "We could take the Bentley. If you sober up, that is."

Crowley groans, sepulchrally tipping his glass upside down and watching the red stain the table-cloth.

Aziraphale supresses an irritated noise and clears the mess with a snap of his fingers.

"Can't." Crowley moans, flinging his arm out to cover his eyes and clunking his head down onto the table, hair poofing out in a black halo around it, "I had two new tapesss," he hiccups, "And now," he moans again, slithering slowly onto the floor, "They're...they're  _bloody best of Queen albums._ "

Aziraphale pats his hair, trying not to be too unsympathetic, but that's not easy when you've got a drunk demon's head in your lap, hair still mussed from sliding off the table, and a phone in the other sending a picture and a text to Anathema Device-Pulsifer reading:  _"He's drunk and complaining about Queen. Again"._

And then the bloody thing rings, and because magic doesn't like Crowley, the ringtone is, of course, J.S. Bach's  _Bohemian Rhapsody._

Crowley screams, frantically covering his ears and curling up into a ball.

" _NO!"_  he screeches, whimpering, "No, please, no...please...Save me..."

He tapers off, moaning softly as Aziraphale quickly throws the device at the wall and scoops Crowley into his arms.

"I think I need a bunker." Crowley mutters, wincing as he sobers up, the tear-tracks drying up on his face.

* * *

  **AZIRAPHALE**

 

**Anyone flirting with Crowley**

The plane is stuffy, babies wailing somewhere in the back, their parents shushing them frantically. In 1st class, however, the stench of perfume prevails above all else, and Crowley is sitting next to the main source: a heavily perfumed young lady.

Aziraphale is pretending to snuffle gently next to him, head lolling onto the wall as he cracks an eye open to watch, when she makes her move.

"Hey," she says brightly with a sultry flick of her hair, "Where're you going, such a handsome man like you?"

Crowley stiffens ( _so much for the original Tempter, huh?)_ , then relaxes, smiling easily at her through his sunglasses.

_Of course he would. He's a demon, and he's got a job. Dagon's still keeping tabs, right?_

"Home," Crowley says vaguely, keeping his voice low, (which in normal circumstances would make the angel shudder, but now Aziraphale knows that it's to hide the laughter building in his throat), "Y'know, the usual. And what about the pretty lady sitting in seat 17C?"

She bats her eyelashes, hand folding daintily over her chest, fingers dancing over the already low neckline of her dress.

"Oh, the same," she drawls, eyeing Aziraphale's "sleeping" profile, half suspicious, half sizing him up, "Got a lady-friend waiting at home, I suppose?"

Aziraphale supresses a stab of jealousy, shifting slightly into Crowley, feeling rather than hearing the slight hitch in the demon's breathing.

"No," Crowley says, flicking his tongue out and fixing his tie so that it's slightly lower ( _Is he doing that for the lady or for me?,_ Aziraphale wonders dimly), "Not as yet, no."

"Ooh, you're proper British, aren't you," she rolls her shoulder gracelessly, "I can never resist. Especially..." she pauses again, subtly sliding a hand onto his thigh, "One with dark hair and such pale skin. And eyes..?"

_I'll kill her if she doesn't lay off. But she's got a point. Except she's too late, and should get her own._

Crowley pats her hand, and Aziraphale pretends to stir next to him, blond curls flopping over his forehead.

 _ **Don't get too jealous, angel,**_ Crowley broadcasts as he tips his sunglasses down and looks the woman straight in the eye.

She doesn't even flinch, and Aziraphale feels the demon supress a groan of irritation. So much for his favourite trick.

"Oh my God," she croons, "They're beautiful! Your mum must've been real proud-"

"Good day, madam," Aziraphale says smugly, wrapping his arms around Crowley as the demon splutters, blushing profusely but not bothering to wipe his lips, "And yes, his mother was rather proud when we got together, wasn't she?"

The woman squeaks, slightly horrified, as Crowley summons up his most winning smile and winks at her.

 _Don't do that again,_ Aziraphale grumbles, and Crowley -  _his_ Crowley, and only his - smirks again, lifts the arm-rest and kisses him again.

They're onto making out by the time the terrified lady in seat 17C asks the quietly sniggering flight attendant to move.

 

Needless to say, when they got home (home being Crowley's queen-size bed), the demon certainly got his due.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little denoument a long time after the first chapter was posted...

"Angel."

"Yes, dear?"

"...You were jealous, weren't you?"

"Would you be so kind so as to pass the red, dear-  _what_ , Crowley?  _Stop that!_ "

"I asked if you were jealous."

"I am  _not_  drunk enough to have this conversation. Pass me the wine,  _darling_."

"Not until you answer the question,  _angel_."

"Alright! Fine! Yes, I was, happy? Now be a dear and  _pass me the red_."

"Where art thou, oh my virtue of patience- _ow!_ "

" _Pass. The. Red_."

"You'll make a fine demon,  _angel_. Let me see. Envy, cheeeck,  _ding ding diiing, we have a winner~_  Greed, uh, check.  _Stop that_ , I am _not blushing._ Um. Lust, check-"

" _I'll show you lust_ -"

_~fin.~_

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun  
> :)  
> this might get edited a bit more a little later on because I'm a perfectionist, but I hope you liked  
> ((edit 7th May 2019 thank you all so damn much for the love and kudos))  
>  ~~kudos and comments are still much appreciated. they are like jaffa cakes, i need them but i don't get them~~  
> 


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